Request on the kinkmeme was: Empress Luluko/Knight of Zero Suzaku

Empress Luluko makes her Knight bow down and kiss her feet. Then her hands. Then her arms. Then her collar bone. Then her stomach. Then in between her legs. Throne sex, Luluko riding.

Author's Notes: Yay. I actually have a really big thing for Suzaku/female!Lelouch, surprising though it may be. XD Enjoy!


Game, Set

A Suzaku/Luluko One Shot



"Kneel." Her voice rings through the throne room; she notices with satisfaction that it is so cold and scathing that it almost doesn't betray the tremble in it. She keeps her eyes trained on the man in front of her, and repeats, "Kneel. Haven't you heard what I said?"

He looks at her. His face is lit up by the light of surprise as his green eyes widen slightly. He soon understands, though -- understands like he always does, implicitly -- and bites his lower lip as he regards her out of narrowed eyes, his posture a symbol of defiance.

Leloucia tosses her hair behind her shoulder, feeling the dark tresses tickle her shoulder blades.

"Yes, kneel," she repeats, trying to drown out the sound of her own heart. When she tilts her head with a skeptical smirk, some of her hair draws like a curtain over her eyes that flickers when she blinks. "You've agreed to be my knight after all, Suzaku. Surely you knew very well what it entailed when you accepted this position?" Her eyes are as cool as dry velvet as she looks as him, and for one terrible moment, for one moment only, she thinks he may not do it after all: his every muscle tensed, his jaw so tight, something smoldering in the green depths of his eyes, and --

Outside, it's begun to rain, and the rain drops splatter against the windows, gravity lolling them to tears. Inside the throne room, it seems as if she can hear every breath, maybe even every glance. The tension is so thick that Leloucia wouldn't be surprised if she bumped her nose on it.

It shatters only when Suzaku drops to his knees. His eyes are drawn to the floor in obedience, but she can see the defiance still, in the way he worries his lower lip between his teeth, and the way his adam's apple bobbing when he says, "Yes, Your Majesty."

She exhales, relief flooding her senses. "Well then, Suzaku," she drawls, stretching out her hand to claw at the air in a cat-like manner. "Since you have so graciously accepted the position as my new knight --"

"Don't talk to me like that, Luluko." He presses out the words from in between grit teeth, eyes still drawn to the floor, jaw tight.

She smiles and drops her hand, resting her chin against her palm. Her voice is low and dangerous; probing, searching, taunting. "Back to Luluko, are we now?"

He bites his lower lip before he raises his eyes; Leloucia almost flinches at the full impact of his gaze. "It is true that I accepted." She can't read him as well anymore as she used to; what is that in his eyes? Sorrow? Regret? Defiance? "But you know at what price, Lu --" He stops himself, darts his eyes to the floor, then continues, "Your Majesty."

She stretches out her leg slowly, letting her bare foot trail up to him, poking him in the cheek with her big toe. He looks up at the sensation, eyes narrowing at her. "You know the real reason why I accepted."

And she freezes internally then, just for a second -- because she doesn't want to have to deal with those thoughts, and as if trying to push them all out of her mind, she instead pushes her foot flat against his cheek so that he has to raise onto his knees. Pushing him away has always worked best when he gets too close, after all. "We've gone over this multiple times, Suzaku -- it's most beneficial to me, I have a reward for you if you cooperate and --"

"And you know that's not all of it."

She narrows her eyes at him, thinks of something to say, anything to say to steer clear from the topic they had both been aiming at with destructive course, and she grips the steering wheel and manoeuvres the conversation into a different direction when she orders, voice low and cold, "Kiss it."

It's obvious what she means, and she knows he knows. He narrows his eyes at her, a faint blush settling over his features as he processes the request. Meanwhile she toes along his face, hooking one of her toes under his bottom lip, eyes narrowed, challenging expression on her face, daring him to refuse.

He obliges much quicker than she would have thought. He lets his jaw drop and allows her to push her toes past his lips into the thick wetness of his mouth.

Violet meets green. "See, now that's good." She almost laughs then, but restrains herself, pressing the back of her hand against her lips as she regards her knight. "That's --"

Her eyes widen when her foot drops out of his mouth as he angles his head. Her first instinct is to snap at him, but then she sees his smile (smile, why is he smiling now?), and the next thing she knows he is dragging his lips along the top of her foot to her ankle, biting the skin he finds there while never once averting his eyes.

Leloucia draws in her breath.

She almost wants him to stop, feeling something weighing down in her chest. She says nothing, however, only biting down on her lip, but while her mouth remains closed, she does reach for him, leaning forward in her throne, her robes rustling around her. Finding the back of his head with her hand, she draws him closer while folding her legs, making him shuffle forward on his knees. His hands wrap themselves around her ankles and she shivers a little as he presses his mouth against them, then moves up higher, to her shin.

She squirms on her throne, her heart beat suddenly loud as a drum in her ears; her hand darts out to join the other one that is dangled in his hair; to push Suzaku away or draw him closer, she hasn't yet decided which, but --

But he catches her hand without breaking eye contact, and brings it to his face; her knuckles brush against his cheek before she can feel his lips against them, warm and moist. Part of her wants to draw away her hand, but she only watches as he turns around her hand and then latches onto her wrist, tracing the thin blue veins outlined against the skin with his tongue, then licks along the protruding bones in her wrist before skipping up, up, along the sensitive skin of her inner arm, opening and closing his mouth and flicking out his tongue, leaving a searing trail along her skin.

Her voice sounds hollow even to herself. "What are you doing?"

He doesn't answer, only trailing up higher, reaching the hem of her sleeve. Raising on his knees, he withdraws his head from her arm and pushes down her robes with his other hand. Her pale shoulder floats inside the throne room, insubstantial like a fragment of dream. His lips are upon her almost immediately, biting and licking her shoulder, along the sharp knobs of bones, and while his mouth is coaxing her, he pushes her robes apart further, then follows with his lips, capturing inch after inch of new skin, and marking it with his lips and teeth and lingering tongue.

She blushes a soft shade of pink, and begins to muster up the willpower to tell him to stop. To tell him to leave now, because she never asked for anything more than having her feet licked, not this, and -- and whatever it is leading to.

"Don't do this," she says. She hates how her voice wavers and quivers, just like her entire torso as he removes his mouth. She shivers as his saliva dries on her skin.

He looks at her, smile on his face, half-challenging and half-amused. His voice is like velvet when he says, "Can't I, Luluko?"

"No," she tells him, and draws her robe back around herself. "No, you can't."

Then she pauses. Waits. Look at him, at his eyes, nose, lips, and she says, "You can't because you have to wait for my orders."

He looks up now, surprise spilling onto his features; Leloucia tries to ignore the persistent beating of her own frantic heart as she pushes her robe open once again, drawing her eyes to the floor as she reveals the thin black shirt and skirt she is wearing. She grips him by the back of his neck (his soft hair falling all around her fingers), and then she yanks him forward. Suzaku makes a surprised noise at the back of his throat when his nose smashes against her collarbones. She watches as he rolls his eyes to look up at her.

Silence muffles the scene, dulling Leloucia's heart beat to a distant drum and her sharp breathing to mere whispers.

Her voice rings in the room when she orders, "Kiss it. Then lower."

And he smiles against her skin, smiles up at her that same brand of boyish charm that had always made her body stiffen and sent her heart into a terrified gallop, and then he begins to lick along the line of her collarbones, following the line like a marble rolling down a hill.

She gasps when he cups both of her breasts; he is pushing down the strap of her top to reveal the lace of her purple bra, then continues his searing trail as he captures some of the cloth with his teeth, dragging it down lower, lower.

Her hands shoot out to stop him, to bury themselves in the strands of that windswept hair. "N-Not there."

She folds her arms over her chest, drawing her face to the side, pink dusting itself over her cheeks. It isn't like her to have complexes about her looks, but growing up surrounded by her rather well-endowed and feminine sisters has taken a bit of a toll on her; her breasts are so small, her hips so narrow, and her entire figure so boyish that she doesn't want to reveal more than she has to.

She pushes down his head, past her breasts to her stomach (there, now that's less dangerous, for now), and pulls him forward. He breathes out against her, and Leloucia shivers at the moist hotness drenching her shirt. She doesn't resist when nimble fingers find the hem of her top and push it up, revealing her pale stomach. Her muscles flex in --

(anticipation?)

-- nervousness as his mouth find the sensitive skin surrounding her belly button, and he begins to lick and bite at the soft flesh, breathing against it, tongue hot and wet.

Her heart is beating hard, way too hard, and she can feel the beginnings of flush spreading out all across her body, because it's reached a point where she can no longer deny the -- the --

-- the sexual nature of this, and she presses her hand against her mouth to keep herself from making noise as her knight continues to place butterfly kisses on her stomach. But no force in the world can stop her from gasping when she feels his hand on her thigh. She snaps like a pocket knife, ready to hiss at him for daring to touch where she hasn't ordered him to (would she? Could she?), but all thoughts tumble out of her head and gather to her feet like forgotten bricks of cement as she catches the glint in his eyes, and her lower body gives an affirming throb.

She begins to tremble. When she attempts to bite on her thumb nail to calm herself down, it clicks against her teeth. She isn't -- she isn't very knowledgeable when it comes to these things, and the few times she has felt sexual arousal, she has just dismissed it, distracting herself with other, more relevant thoughts. But now it's becoming increasingly hard to ignore -- something in her lower abdomen is tightening, and she wants to tell him to stop, even opens her mouth, rocks forward on her throne a little to say it, and then --

Doesn't, doesn't because the first spark of pleasure scissors through her body at the feel of that hand flicking against her panties, touching there. "S-Suzaku!"

He looks up at her, face a mask of mock-innocence.

She grits her teeth and says nothing, while inside her head, a voice is wailing, 'he knows, he knows'. She can't help but squirm on her throne, her legs shaking as she links them over his shoulders and urges him forward, forward because it's already gotten this far, and to ignore it now -- now, when the twinkle in his eye says that he knows exactly what she is feeling, knows that he has succeeded in making her feel the way he undoubtedly wanted her to feel all along -- that would be too much like admitting defeat than she could ever be comfortable with.

So she wills herself to relax. Meets his eyes, lets her eyes probe the sparkling green sea. Opens her thighs just a little. Tries to drown out the drum of her own heart when she says, in a voice so hard it could cut diamonds, "Kiss me there."

There, now that has reasserted control, and he knows it. She smiles down at him smugly, her eyes flashing and her lips stretching across her face.

He reciprocates the look, expression unreadable. His smile has dropped, his face once more ironed into its customary mask of palpable apathy (Leloucia has never liked that expression on him). She is so entranced by the sight of his face that she winces when she feels his hands on her, running over the silky material of her panties.

He just looks at her and says, in that irritating tone he always uses that she never quite knows how to place, "Yes, Your Majesty."

Shame is a cold shower burning down her spine and pulsing into her cheeks when he pulls her panties to the side. Her thighs tremble as her calves slide down along his shoulder blades when he shuffles forward; his Knight of Zero uniform feels silky against her bare legs. She doesn't know what to do: looking at him, she feels a strange sensation in her stomach, like a terrible demon hatching from its egg, the cracks spider webbing along the white surface as it pushes; closing her eyes, she feels so vulnerable she wants to hug herself and weep.

She opts for watching in the end, but with every inch he bridges (he moves slowly, bit by tiny bit, like a slide show of doom), the knot in her stomach keeps tangling and tangling and –- and oh, hot gusts of breath breaking over her, breaking over her skin there, and she keeps watching out of widened eyes, and when his lips finally touch her, the gasp she will not release shatters in her throat.

Every single muscle in her body is tensed to what feels like breaking point. Her lungs are burning, but she doesn't want to exhale, refuses to, because she knows that if she does, she will --

He is starting to move his mouth against her (hmm, soft, moist), and she shudders, pressing her hand against her mouth, drawing her legs up closer to her chest, her feet resting on his shoulders now, her thighs brushing against his ears on either side of his head.

oh.

It is awkward, wet, and a little cold whenever he retreats a little and the air hits her, but it still feels good enough for her fingers to claw at the armrests of her throne, and her feet to tremble on top of his shoulders.

ah

Her eyes widen. Her fingers leave the throne and instead fly to Suzaku's hair, tearing at it. Her mouth falls open, releasing air in a frantic rush, and she distantly notices that it's high, that it's feminine and, worst of all, most definitely a moan.

She doesn't know what exactly he did that felt so good, only that it sends her mind reeling to such a degree that she momentarily even forgets to be embarrassed about having made such lewd noises.

"Mmh. Yes."

She sinks down deeper along the throne, shivering and gasping, lifting her hips by stemming her feet against his shoulders. She sees him through the thick haze that has settled over her mind –- green eyes brilliant if a bit mischievous, eyebrows a little raised, messy bangs falling into his forehead –- and it only really hits her now that this is Suzaku, her Suzaku with his –- his mouth between her legs, pleasuring her, and she is letting him, and she should stop him, she really should, because she can see it on his face, the fact that he is the one with a firm grip around the steering wheel right now, controlling her when he closes his teeth around her clit and sucks –-

ah

-- or when he pushes inside her with just one finger, stretching her as his digit slides along her walls --

Leloucia gasps and expects it to hurt, but it doesn't, it doesn't, oh no, that feels good, too.

-- or when his thumb finds her clit while his tongue replaces his finger, the wet muscle sliding inside of her, searching, probing, or when he –- when he –-

Leloucia's eyes widen. "S-Suzaku!"

Her tightly-wired insides are shot through by brilliant shards of pleasure, sending arcs of rapture across the back of her eyes. She can't see, and she certainly can't think; she can only feel, feel the way liquid stardust pumps through his veins in one perfect, weightless moment. Her arms tear and tug at his feathery hair, her legs shake, and her vision is drenched in white as she comes to a shuddering orgasm.

The most perfect feeling she's ever known ends much too soon.

She slumps against the throne, her breath coming out in short gasps. Sweat is cooling off on her skin so rapidly that it sends cold showers down her spine. Suzaku's hot breath against her ear raises her skin into goosebumps. "Liked it, Luluko?"

She hasn't even noticed him next to her face (how did he get to his feet so fast?), but once she does, she jerks in surprise, her fingers automatically flying to his shoulders. Her fists are shaking when she pushes him back, her eyes diving into his face; his lips are set into a tight line, but his eyes are glazed over with the affection brimming inside them, and something inside Leloucia snaps.

She doesn't think she has ever jumped to her feet so quickly ever before. Holding onto his uniform, she pushes him back once she stands erect, her hands then dropping to roam down along his cheek to his neck and down over his chest. He looks surprised, maybe a little taken aback -- and she grins in the way only she can, that half-condescending, half-smug way she has perfected over the years to cover up the trembling deep inside, and she pulls at him harder, turning him around and then giving him a shove.

He stumbles a step back until his calves hit the throne, and he is just about to catch his weight when she digs her fingers into his shoulders again and pushes him down until he reluctantly sits down.

Leloucia distantly notices that she much prefers it when he isn't above her.

"That wasn't bad." She raises her hands to his cheek, letting her thumb slide over his lips. "I expected worse."

And he smiles again, but there is a hint of masculine satisfaction perched atop his voice when he says, "You came."

The embarrassment is like a small shock inside her. Her mouth drops open, then closes again; she clenches her jaw shut so hard it hurts. "Shut up."

He laughs that rich, throaty laughter of his that has always done strange things to her chest. She shuts him up by climbing on top of him, straddling him on the throne, her robe forgotten and discarded on the floor. Giving herself no time to feel embarrassed at her attire (violet bra exposed with her shirt pooling around her waist and her skirt hiked up), she begins to tug and tear at his zipper, trying to open it.

She stops only when she feels his hand on hers and he asks, "What are you doing?"

"Just sit back and let me handle this." Her heart is threatening to explode in her ears, drowned only by the deafeningly loud sound of his zipper splitting open, and she is tugging at his pants, urging him to lift his hips. She hides her face behind a curtain of dark hair as he finally obliges and she slides down his pants right along with his boxers, and oh --

She can feel it brushing against her thigh, warm and moist. The tangle in her stomach intensifies, wreathing itself into a knot so tight that it pumps chills of anxiety through her every muscle. She doesn't dare to look at him as she lowers herself, but she can feel what he's doing all right -- his breath is starting to go faster, he curses once or twice, his fingers dig into her hips to steady her. She can feel his heart beat thrumming just beneath his skin when she fists his uniform. Taking a deep breath, she readies herself for letting her hips drop. It will hurt, she knows this, and she knows she shouldn't do this, but the desire to do the same thing he did to her to him is overriding all the concerns she has about losing her virginity to her knight and childhood friend.

And maybe, just maybe, she may always have sort of wanted this.

He is making small movements with his hips, pushing against her without quite entering, and she makes a noise deep in her throat and puts her hands on both of his shoulders, pushing him deeper down along the throne. "Hold still." Her voice is drizzled with nerves now, and she swallows thickly, trying to get her heart to slow down, trying to guide the few stray rational thoughts still left through the thick morass of her mind.

To no avail. All thoughts tumble out of her as she looks into the white-hot glare of pain when she drops her hips.

Her eyes widen, her hands bury themselves in his uniform, almost tearing the material. Her head falls onto her chest, face obscured by messy dark bangs as he rips inside her, and it hurts, oh, it hurts so much, and the moan of pain shatters against her teeth as she clenches them together, unwilling to release any sound, unwilling to give him any reaction other than her hands tearing at him, and --

"Oh my, this is -- this is your --" He freezes beneath her, his hands going slack on her hips. "Fuck, I -- I didn't know you were a -- I suspected, but --"

She pins his shoulder to the throne harder while sliding down, down, feeling him stretch her as she forces him inside her inch by painful inch. Little needles prick her eyeballs from the inside, but she refuses to cry. She will not cry, she will not cry, she will not cry. "B-Be quiet, Suzaku."

His hands tighten on her hips, stopping her descend. "Look, just -- if you want to do this, just let me make this easier for you. I can --"

"No." She swats his hands away, then, as if to make a point, presses him deeper inside her. When she finally sits flat on his crotch with him buried to the hilt inside her, she releases a long gasp, her fingers finding his shoulders and scratching.

Despite the pain, she feels a staggering rush of affection at the thought of being joined with him that leaves her feeling heady. She exhales with a long gasp, her eyes boring, slamming down into his.

"Luluko..." His voice is soft, thrumming with tightly-corded affection. Sweat drops pearl on his temples that are glinted off by the dim light streaming out from the chandeliers.

She only bites her lower lip and thrusts her hips forward a little to find a less painful angle, only to wince when he presses against her back wall, stretching her further. Has this been a bad idea? It looks like it has been a bad idea, maybe she should have --

Her thoughts are driven into a wall when he yanks her forward, making her crush against his chest. She opens her mouth to protest, only to find that she can't as her scream is pierced by his eager tongue shoving into her mouth.

He tastes like molasses.

Her eyes widen and her brain gives a few more wails before it is shut up completely, buzzing like a TV set that's been switched off as he moves his mouth and lips against her. He withdraws his tongue to nibble on her lower lip, then snakes it back inside her mouth to run it across her own tongue and the walls of her cheeks. Her mouth goes slack, and he's moving his hips and it feels nice as he slides out of her, soothing her burning walls with his retreat. He is gentle when he pushes back in, and when he is sheathed inside her to the base, she can't help but release a long drawn-out moan into his mouth. He smiles against her lips, and continues to distract her with his nimble tongue and gentle fingers while rocking his hips.

Suddenly there is nothing, nothing but the sound of their breaths, fast now and coming out in spurts, nothing outside the sight of gleaming eyes and searching lips, nothing but the feel of skating fingertips and, oh, it's starting to feel better, the burning in her lower body dulling to a buzz as he slides in, in, in with more ease, her muscles relaxing around him, her body turning soft and welcoming, and ah, it feels -- it feels --

He picks up speed, guiding her hips to thrust down faster and faster, and the jabs of pain start to subside, or maybe it still hurts and she just doesn't notice because she is too caught up in kissing him, hearing his little moans and feeling his strong, calloused hands on her hips. There is something thrilling about knowing that he is inside her, something so intimate, and when she tears her mouth off of his to look into his face -- cheeks flushed, locks of hair falling into his forehead, eyes glazed over, kiss-bruised mouth hanging open and glistening with saliva -- she feels the knot of nervousness in her stomach loosen into a few tangled threads. He keeps going faster and she buries her face in his neck, smelling the spices of his masculine sweat, and when he moans, his voice slides through her stomach to pool golden between her legs. She clings to him closer, closer, licking and biting at his neck now while one of his hands trails up to touch her breasts and she lets him, lets him because she can't think of anything other than feeling as much of him as she can right now.

She can barely hear him when he speaks. "Lu-Luluko, I-I'm going to... hah... come soon..."

She drives her hips home, breaking his rhythm with her own faster one. "Go for it..."

"Let me -- let me -- pull out." His hands fumble with her hips, trying to stop her, but he's close now, so close, and his sweaty fingers slip.

She rips his hands off of her, pinning them against the armrest of the throne. "No."

"B-but --"

"No." Another thrust, deep and fast, and his breathing is getting faster, his muscles tensing beneath her.

She catches his bottom lip between her teeth, his breath washing over her face when he says, "But -- inside you -- I can't. What if you get --"

"Do it." His bottom lip slips out of her mouth. Beneath her, his eyes widen, and then --

He curses right before he gasps and his face contorts, his arms catching her into her tight embrace as his hips jerk in fast, almost violent motions. She watches him, looks at his clenched eyes, the expression of euphoria on his face. She only whispers to him and runs her hands through his hair as he shudders and jerks a few more times and then slumps back against the throne, face flushed, hips moving in broken motions before stilling completely.

Leloucia remains like this for another second or two, and when she can feel him getting soft inside her, she moves up until he slides out of her. A shiver runs through her at the assault of the air. Thick liquid is dripping out of her and running down along her thighs as she gets up without a second glance. A small ache pulses inside her lower body, enough to make her wince slightly as she pulls down her skirt and pushes up her shirt. She doesn't need to turn her head to know he is staring at her.

"Well, I hope you're happy." He reveals his anger when he tucks himself in and yanks his pants closed with more force than is absolutely necessary.

It lolls to a stream along her thigh; it's pink, like a mix of milk and blood, but she tries not to look at it. Trying to act nonchalant, she can't help but grit her teeth when she shifts her weight and another pang of pain scissors through her.

He is next to her before she can react, a tangible presence of warmth. Most of the anger seems to have drained -- he is gentle when he asks, voice barely above a whisper and eyes sincere, "Does it hurt a lot?"

She throws him a glance before she kneels down to retrieve the robes scattered on the floor; only to find that he has already done the same thing and is holding out the clothing to her. She moodily snatches the robes out of his grasp. "You know it does."

"I could have helped you, you know. And we didn't have to do this in the first place. Especially if it was your..." He lowers his eyes, humility returning to his face. "Your first time."

Her heart is calling out to him, but she turns around, averting her eyes. "I can't argue against it being my fault, Suzaku." Her voice drops, her eyes glittering. "But at least I got what I wanted."

He laughs; the sound is like the first drop of rain on a clear summer's day: surprising, but pleasant, making you pause, before you decide you would like more of it. "Fine. You win this round."

"Of course."

Thick silence descends upon the scene, muffling every breath. She darts quick glances over to him; he is standing there, the mirth having drained out of him to leave worry behind that folds his face into a mask of conflict. She turns to him, her voice dropping to a gentle whisper. "Don't worry, there is the morning-after pill. I'll take -- I'll take care of it."

He seems to consider this for a second, before he nods, then bows. "Yes, Your Majesty." There is still tightly-corded concern in his voice, but he only bows lower, locks of brunette hair dipping into the pools of his eyes. "I'll take my leave for today then." A glance. "Unless there is something else you'd like me to do."

She frowns. "You are dismissed."

She worries her lower lip, but doesn't say anything when he nods and turns to leave. She still doesn't say anything when she hears his footsteps echoing through the room, and still doesn't say anything when she can hear the heavy doors opening. But just when he's about to slip through the door, just before he disappears --

"Suzaku." She turns to him, and hates herself for how emotional that has sounded.

He pauses, look at her with a questioning on his face. "Yes, Your Majesty?"

She draws her gaze to the floor, her cheeks burning. "Call me -- call me Luluko."


"Luluko."

"My name is Leloucia, okay? Leloucia."

"Le-loucia?"

"Leloucia, you idiot. Not Ruruusha."

"Hey, is it my fault I can't pronounce it? I'm Japanese, our mouths aren't made for pronouncing stupid Britannian names"

"It's not stupid. My mother gave me that name! But then it's probably too much to ask of you..."

"I like Luluko."

"Shut up."

"It's a cute name."

"It's not fitting then, because I'm not cute."

"You are."

"Shut up."


"Ne, Luluko?"

"Hm?"

"I probably would have beaten you up if you were a boy."

"That's lovely to know, Suzaku."

"But now I wouldn't be beating you anymore even if you were."

"Why's that?"

"Because you like me, of course."

"...I what?"

"You even let me call you Luluko, don't you?"

"....."

"You do!"

"It's Leloucia."

"No, it's Luluko. A pretty name for a pretty girl."

"....Whatever."


"You know, I've been thinking."

"That's never a good sign."

"Oh, don't be like that. I'm trying to be nice here, you know?"

"Fine. What have you been thinking about?"

"I want to marry you when we grow up."

"Yeah, right."

"I'm serious!"

"Why would you want that?"

"Because I know that it's all just a -- a trick, you know. Your coldness and your snappiness and your meanness. You're not really like that. You're actually kind. I've always known that."

"I think the word you're looking for is façade."

"Right!"

"....It really never is a good sign."



"Hey. How about we make a pact, Luluko?"

"Hmmm?"

"That we'll always be together. You and me."

"Hmmm."

"That I'll always protect you."

"You're being stupid. We're just kids. We can't predict what anything will be like 10 years from now."

"Oh, come on. Don't you want to be with me?"

"....I didn't -- I didn't say I -- I didn't..."

"See?"

"Fine, Suzaku. Fine. Have it your way for once."

"Together, always?"

"....."

"And we'll get married."

"Don't push your luck now."

"You blushed."

"Did not."

"You can't fool me, Luluko."

"........"

"So. Together, always?"

"....Yeah. Yeah, that sounds okay."


Author's Notes: Reviews make author happy in pants. 3